


Sankt Mikołaj

by Colaris



Category: Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Other, Swearing, drunk people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28191801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colaris/pseuds/Colaris
Summary: This is my Christmas contribution to you guys. A small piece about some rogues and the two OC’s of my partner and me. Expect some wild swearing, lewd jokes and a drunk Pole.
Relationships: Elise x Jonathan x Mikołaj





	Sankt Mikołaj

The old opera house on the outskirts of Gotham City might not be the best place for a small Christmas party, but being a well-known villain in Gotham didn't really have much of a choice when it came to upscale holiday venues. Basically, you were happy to find a quiet place in the hustle and bustle streets of the city. Elise smiled a bit and slowly decorated an extremely crooked Christmas tree on the dilapidated main stage, sometimes balancing on her tiptoes to reach the higher branches. Fortunately, Selina was actively helping her with this task. The thief was just about to put a completely scratched poinsettia on the top of the fir tree, cautiously crawling up the trunk. This attempt was viewed with scepticism by Edward, who was sitting in the front row of the stage seats with a mug of mulled wine. The Riddler was generally not particularly interested in collaborating and preferred to condemn all the hard-working criminals around him. Jonathan in particular got to feel the often very condescending comments of the inventor first handed. The former psychiatrist sighed cautiously and set the plates on the long dining table, then placed the small cotton bags that Harley had lovingly put together with a small variety of chocolate on the individual seats. The lively woman herself was busy with the main banquet. At least that's what she called her huge efforts at the cooker. She bobbed her head slightly to the beat of a song she heard on her headphones and placed the potatoes in a pot of boiling water. Nobody in the opera dared to speak out loud, but there was a certain panic when the blonde-haired woman wanted to showcase her questionable culinary skills again. Especially when the kitchen was a jumbled mix of almost defective appliances the woman collected from a nearby dump. More than once in the past, the assembled villains had to order fast food because Harley had mercilessly overestimated herself and suffered a mental breakdown in addition to a burning kitchen. That is probably why Victor Fries was invited in the first place to all their little celebration. In the event of a fire, the tall man could at least provide help quickly. The cryologist cooled the softly humming punch mixed by Elise from various dried fruits and watched the spectacle in the kitchen with suspicious eyes. He seemed ready at any time to prevent a disaster.

To everyone's relief, Garfield Lynns had been given a nicely worded refusal to attend the party. Wherever Firefly was, sooner or later everything was literally on fire and no one was eager to sit in a pile of ashes for Christmas. The pyromaniac had worn it with composure. After the cancellation, several houses and a hospital were on fire only twenty minutes later, but according to Harley that was probably just a very stupid coincidence. In addition to Firefly, there was also not a sign of Poison Ivy and unfortunately the self-proclaimed Mad Hatter. The botanist had made a very conscious decision not to be present this evening, especially because she really couldn't stand neither Edward or Jonathan and didn't want to waste her valuable time with the two piles of male human meat. Victor was not directly affected by her hatred, although Ivy preferred to avoid him because of his gender too. The long begging from Harley hadn't been able to change her mind at the end. Pamela was now probably sitting alone in her apartment and quietly drinking a coffee with far too much potting soil. Disgusting. Jervis, however, was stuck in Arkham - again. As is so often the case, the little man had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had been caught by Batman. This was a little tragedy in a great comedy on several levels. Jervis had deliberately turned his back on crime a long time ago, but somehow death haunted him at every turn. It was not uncommon for the blond-haired man to stumble accidentality over all sorts of rotting corpses in the streets that unknown criminals in Gotham had at one point thrown away. Whenever the Mad Hatter dutifully reported a new trove, the GCPD arrested him on arrival or the bat found the technically innocent murderer. Even if so much spoke against it, Batman was convinced of the wonderland lover's guilt in those moments.

The Dark Knight had the blonde-haired man monitored very closely by the whole Bat family and checked every now and then whether Jervis was well integrated into society. Probably no other criminal was eyed by the bat as meticulously as the poor Mad Hatter. Elise was just about to hang some very kitschy ornaments on the tree when a loud scream rang from the sporadically built kitchen. None of those present dared to turn around to look at the upcoming disaster. A faint haze of scorched food wafted through the air, followed by the general scent of burning wood. Mr. Freeze groaned softly and released the safety catch on his specially designed rifle, then trudged serenely next to the Harlequin. He began to work systematically on the rising fire with the icy jet. The blonde-haired woman had meanwhile sat cross-legged on the floor, of course right next to the raging flames. She pouted with tears in her eyes. The orange-haired woman stared at the bizarre scenario with her mouth open, then hurried breathlessly to her friend and tried to pull her away from the heat with gentle force. Sometimes the young woman doubted the common sense of the other criminals, but Harley often take the cake. Elise had already experienced so much crazy stuff with the psychiatrist and yet the blonde-haired woman regularly managed to surprise her with new actions. The fire was extinguished after a few minutes, thank God. Now the villains stood together in a row in front of the meager remains of their actual banquet, arms crossed over their chests and stared at the ashes on the floor, a bit perplexed. After a while Edward finally wrinkled his nose and muttered softly: "Celebrate Christmas with us Edward. Together. Like a big, perfect family. No stress, no hassle. That I don't laugh. Does anyone else have a grandiose plan that they would like to put into practice today when we are already about to successfully ruin the evening?” These words hit the Harlequin harder than expected. The woman suddenly began to cry violently, at the end she sank emotionally broken to her knees.

Elise and Selina crouched down next to the blonde-haired woman and spoke to her with angelic tongues, staring at the tinkerer with withering eyes. He rolled his eyes, then turned away to go back to the stage. Victor rubbed his cold neck slowly and asked inappropriately calmly: "And what do we do now about dinner? I am very hungry to be honest." Struck silence. After a while, Elise hesitantly replied: "Mr. Crane, don't we have some frozen pizzas left in the cooler?” The lanky man closed his tense eyes. In response, he merely shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the backstage area of the opera. His assistant was about to go back through the open door when suddenly the lights went out in the entire building. There was a loud rumble followed by Edward's cursing voice. Due to the unexpected darkness, he had stumbled gloriously over an inconveniently placed connector strip and lay face first on the dirty floor. Selina cleared her throat, then remarked, visibly amused: "I don't want to paint the devil on the wall, but is this Christmas possibly under a very bad star?" Before anyone could answer the thief properly suddenly a loud 'Ho Ho Ho' echoed through the opera. Harley listened in surprise and literally jumped to her feet, squeaking excitedly: “Did you hear that? Is that Santa Claus?” From somewhere in the pitch-dark room the Riddler replied more than sarcastically:“ It's probably just the Christmasbat that saw the meter-high flames from his Bat fir tree and is now here in his fancy red suit to beat us all up because the majority of us weren't exactly good this year.” The popular Karma immediately took revenge on the inventor. Edward had got up for just two seconds only to stumble over a rusted bucket while walking. The other criminals skilfully ignored the black-haired man's thud.

Without a warning, the spotlights on the stage suddenly went on, illuminating the elevation in a false, biting white light. On it stood a figure in a Santa Claus costume in a questionable, but clearly sexual pose, whereby the imitation itself was more than unsuccessful. The person didn't even have a fake white beard and was generally far too thin for the commercial symbol of western Christmas. Despite these strong indications that the villains were certainly not dealing with the original, Harley almost felt awe. She stammered softly: “It really is him! I can not believe it! Does he have presents for us too? Oh, if Red could see that now! We're meeting Santa Claus!” Selina frowned, blinked a few times to get her eyes used to the sudden light. She moaned softly and replied soberly: "I don't want to pull you out of your pink and glittering wonderland Harl, but that up there is definitely not the real Santa Claus and if I can trust the slight smell of alcohol in the air I can also guess who is under the costume." The person on the stage broke away from the suggestive pose and grinned broadly, bowing slightly to the assembled crew. He made a strange lunge step forward, hold himself up in the act to not fall over completely. The cryologist raised an eyebrow in disbelief, then whispered softly to Jonathan: “Is he drunk again?” The former psychiatrist snorted contemptuously: “You'd better ask the question differently, Victor. For example, when that is not the case with him. I would have difficulty naming such days for you.” Mikołaj shook his head slightly, picked up a bottle with transparent liquid and drank from the presumably vodka that was already well drained. He wiped his mouth and slurred loudly: “Ho Ho Ho Hoes! Happy fucking Christmas and whatever else you can think of. You know, I thought to myself that good old Miki, your closest friend and Samaritan of all Gotham City idiots, would give you the things you have always wanted. Like, come on, my name is literally screaming out loud that I'm the fucking polish answer to Santa Claus. And so ... stop. Wait a minute."

With these words the Pole turned his head to the side and vomited a gush of his stomach contents onto the stage. The criminals shook their heads in sync. The psychopath choked a few more times before straightening up and starting to speak again: "It's better that way. So you sweet bitches. I brought a present to each of you dirty hookers. Yeah, I know I'm so generous. You just come up here one by one when I call you. Understood?” He didn't give the staff time to answer. Mikołaj reached into his side pocket and fished out a piece of parchment, opening the list almost dramatic. He manoeuvre his index finger over the lines. The black-haired man smiled widely and shouted loudly into the opera: "Harleen Frances Quinzel! Get your ass to Mr. Santa." The psychiatrist immediately shuddered. She stiffened a little and walked very slowly onto the stage, stepping in front of the costumed Pole. The latter lifted his index finger and moved it reproachfully. He asked seriously: "Were you well-behaved this year? Like doing the good stuff: murder, rape, cursing at people randomly on the streets." The woman nodded eagerly. This seemed to be sufficient evidence for the psychopath. He reached into the blood-streaked jute bag and fished around in it. After a few seconds he took out a severed arm, stared at the body part, visibly drunk, and finally threw it over his shoulder, totally unimpressed. He finally found what he was looking for. Mikołaj smiled and handed the blond-haired girl a brightly decorated present. She squeaked exuberantly, excitedly took the small package. Harley couldn't seem to wait any longer and impatiently tore the paper from the box. She opened the lid, suddenly became unusually calm. As if in slow motion, the madwoman first took out a palette of clown's make-up and finally a test tube with a milky liquid, sealed with a cork. The disguised Pole explained almost proudly: “I wanted to give you the possibility that you could look beautiful and handsome again as you did with your lovely ex. Also something personal from me, in case you plan to have some kids with your plant cunt. There can never be enough Mikołaj's running around in Gotham, right? Next is Victor Fries. Come up here you old pig!"

Harley whimpered softly but made no more sound beside that. She sauntered off the stage with her head bowed and was hugged tightly by Selina. Elise also gave her friend a comforting hug. The cryologist was unsure whether to go upstairs but ended up going to see the psychopath. It was a strange sight. In his suit, Victor was two heads taller than the Pole, who nevertheless dared to bang his fist on the tall man's breastplate in greeting. The black-haired man shouted loudly: “Were you well-behav ... Oh fuck it. Here my friend. You even get two presents. Merry Christmas!” With that he handed him a blue present. Victor hesitated to accept it and opened it carefully. He mumbled confused: “Who still uses DVD's today? And is that the 1997 movie Batman & Robin? Is that supposed to be a very bad joke? And what is this?" The cryologist opened a corny Christmas card and stared inside. He didn't seem to know exactly what the writing meant. After a while the man said in amazement: “A paid Tinder Gold account? Is that something like Netflix?” The assembled villains stared at the stage with big eyes. They were all speechless. The Pole didn't answer the cryologist's question, just slapped him hard on the back. He indicated to him to go downstairs. As Victor descended, he was already shouting loudly for Selina. The thief rolled her eyes and strolled elegantly over to him. She whispered softly: "I wasn't a good kitten, Mr. Mikiclaus." Mikołaj purred throatily and grabbed his crotch, then looked in the jute bag for her present. He handed her a package and whispered to her: “Just wait and see, lewdly slut. I stashed a Krampus costume in the back to punish you appropriately in particular. Just wait for it."

Selina winked at him and dared to look inside her present. She paused, then slowly pulled out a dog collar with a dog tag. On this was just written the word cunt in pink letters. The Pole whispered meaningfully to the thief: "You will get my bone later, pussycat." The black-haired woman put her middle finger into her mouth and let it slip elegantly out of her mouth, then blew a kiss to the black-haired man and left the stage. The psychopath suddenly gagged again, but seemed able to suppress another vomiting. He looked into the jute bag and pulled out another present, then grinned overjoyed. At that moment, Jonathan knew he was probably next on the list. As if to confirm, Mikołaj shouted into the room: “Ground meat face! Come on, up with you old doter! Uncle Miki has something for you!” The former psychiatrist groaned depressed, mumbled something quietly about the fact that someone should finally free him from this nasty person. Nonetheless, he went upstairs and stood with folded arms in front of the black-haired man. The psychopath raised his hand briefly, then suddenly vomited again. A gush of foul-smelling liquid spilled over the Master of Fear's shoes. Jonathan didn't seem to find the right words for this audacity and simply took the gift speechless and looked carefully into it. An already opened tube of anti-aging cream and a can of wet dog food came to light. The Pole mumbled in a very dizzying mood: “Maybe you can still save something about the horrible accident in your face and yes, the can is for a culinary highlight in your sad, pathetic life. Next up on the list is my little cunt. Come to Daddy girl.” Elise shuddered slightly and stepped onto the stage, giving her mentor an encouraging pat on his shoulder. She stepped in front of Mikołaj, examined the drunk suspiciously. He wiped his mouth again and reached into the bag, took out another box. The orange-haired woman weighed the 'gift' of not opening it, but did the psychopath a favour. She peeked carefully inside. Her eyes were getting bigger. The young woman slowly took out a wrapped pregnancy test and a small jar of diet pills. Inwardly, the Mistress of Fear wondered how the Pole managed not to get immediately killed by the other villains. The so-called surprises would have immediately cost any stranger his head. Mikołaj suddenly grabbed her by the neck and pulled her towards him, whispering lasciviously in her ear: "You will need the test when I'm done with you tonight, little bitch." With that he dismissed her and waved Edward over, who was sceptical the request followed. The Riddler tore the green paper from the admittedly large gift compared to the others. He fiddled with plastic packaging and finally read aloud in shock: “An inflatable sex doll. Gender: Male?!?!" The Pole grinned and replied with satisfaction: “I just wanted to get sure that you faggot have something to fuck with for Christmas. You don't need to thank me, homo, I appreciate your gratitude too.” Edward breathed sharply in and out, was clearly about to reach for his belt where the revolver was attached. Elise, who was still standing next to him, successfully stopped him from shooting the drunk psychopath. The tinkerer was also finding a small puzzle box in the gift. He turned the cube, pressed some of the metal latches, and grumbled softly. His ambition was packed to solve it in probably no time. Mikołaj drank another sip of the vodka and shouted loudly: "And again: Merry Christmas, you hookers!" With these words he simply fell over backwards and stayed completely boozed on the stage.

Three weeks later. Elise watched Edward still fiddling with the cube. He swore softly: “It can't be that difficult! Fuck!” The young woman picked up her cell phone and looked for Mikołaj's picture. She wrote slowly: “Tell me, what kind of puzzle box did you give to Eddy? He still hasn't solved it. This is strange if you think about his normal very quick solving skills." It took a while for an answer to come back:" He wants to solve the fucking thing? I wish him good luck. The cube has no solution. It's been constructed in such a way that it's completely pointless.” At that moment Elise didn't know what to do any more. She decided not to say anything to poor Edward for now. Perhaps at some point he would discover for himself that none of Mikołaj's gifts had any good intentions. So everything was the same as always.


End file.
